


the house that heaven built

by DeadPrince



Category: Hemlock Grove
Genre: Genderqueer Character, Multi, Other, Trans Character, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-29
Updated: 2014-08-29
Packaged: 2018-02-12 14:08:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2112822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeadPrince/pseuds/DeadPrince
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"this is a dream : this will never happen"</p>
            </blockquote>





	the house that heaven built

**Author's Note:**

> roman is non-binary in this: it is only implied but i thought it was present enough to warrant at tag  
> beta'd by tumblr user upyrs  
> and thanks kamil for giving me the prompt that inspired me to write this

 

this is a dream: this will never happen. No one leaves the monsters in peace: they must take their place in the story, spill blood again and again.  
this is a dream: you clutch it close, let it grow.

 

your face nuzzling his neck, feeling his badly-shaven jaw.  
you can hear the beating but it’s slow. when have you ever heard that sound steady. when have you not wanted to tear throats.  
peace doesn’t happen here. peace does not happen in this life. a bit of disgust and a lot of boredom before, hate and grief tearing through your body after. but here there is hope.

you can touch him, even when miranda is not here. you can reach out with your hand touch his lips, his ribcage, his cunt. the distance seemed so hard to breach before, seemed canyons and dragging your feet through hot coals.  
you are roman godfrey and you can touch a boy, this boy.  
you get up.

 

miranda is in the kitchen, she is cooking something. she has already fed nadia.  
you can tell because she is not crying. you know that because her new room isn’t soundproof anymore.  
“do you want some? while i’m still making it?” she says. you: “i’m not eating that vegan shit,” and she flips the bird, but she smiles. (a little bit broken always, but happy. no blood seeps through her t-shirt now). you go to the bathroom.

 

there is a small array of lipsticks, eyeshadows, and a bottle of makeup remover on the big minimalist bathroom shelf, stained cottons scattered. miranda forgets to throw them in the bin ; she is living there now, [got/with] habits that come from being home. her corner is the right one, yours is left. peter washes with soap and his face is bare, nothing to be stored.

he had come home then, said “i got you a gift”, threw a small circular tube on the bed, “i got it at the dollar store”  
“are you kidding me?” eyeing it, “there is no way i’ll put that cheap stuff on my face”  
“well i’m sorry, we can’t all be famous heirs. and anyway it’s your color”, that shit-eating grin on his face.  
(he was beautiful. he is always)  
you did put that cheap stuff on your face. it was your color.  
(traces of it smeared on his body, on miranda’s)

 

in the shower, thinking. lynda will come over in the afternoon, insist on baking something. she doesn’t know that you refused to help her: you feel guilty. “she wouldn’t care”, he says. (what he doesn’t say is she would, she would care if she knew it brought him that close to the vargulf and you, roman, would think you deserved it; but no one knows about that. better to say : i don’t know how it happened, i don’t know why i started.)  
maybe shelley could come too. she is getting better now. olivia is dead after all (how? we don’t know. but she is, she really is)

 

there are lies.  
there is you feeding, bits of organs clinging to your chin, peter and the agony on his face every full moon.  
and the mundane: shouting explosions, letha, the tears and the drama, closing off, keeping to yourself when you should really should try to be better.  
but you don’t care, you don’t care: nothing too bad happens here. 

 

you lie dressed up and damp on the bed, and you bury your body against his again.

 


End file.
